


Grub First, Then Ethics

by lafillechanceuse



Series: breathe on the way home [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort Food, F/M, Non-Specific Inquisitor, Rare Pairings, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafillechanceuse/pseuds/lafillechanceuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vivienne and The Iron Bull prepare and share a meal in the Hinterlands and get to know each other a little better in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grub First, Then Ethics

Vivienne was not by and large a person acquainted with nature.

Oh, certainly she had strolled in the carefully manicured gardens of Halamshiral and the numerous chateaus of the Val Royeaux noble elite. To not have an extravagant garden to showcase your dwellings was a mark against your character, a demonstration that you lacked the required aesthetic appreciation for elegance and opulence that characterized Orlesian society. Bastien was particularly proud of his summer home, which featured a reflecting pool and a pond filled with shimmering goldfish imported from Antiva. The Montsimmard circle was famous for its replication of a Ferelden garden, wild and untamed but precisely orchestrated to show off the imported beauty of Ferelden’s native flora. Suffice to say, Vivienne de Fer knew her way around a garden enough, she thought, not to bat an eye at whatever wilderness the Inquisition might encounter.

After a week in the Hinterlands, she was left with the distinct but firm impression that nature ought to not have so many bears in it, but then, where did she get off expecting anywhere in Ferelden to have a sense of propriety, much less decency?

If they were not assailed by bears, it was outlaws, and if not outlaws, it was apostate mages, and if not apostate mages, it was templars and she was thoroughly sick of it all. The whole lot of them being covered in dirt and blood did nothing to help her mood. At least water was plentiful and the bath she drew the second night with the Iron Bull’s help washed away most of the stink and grime. The rest of the party had followed suit; the camp on the upper lake proved to be the most convenient one for bathing. Dorian had even drawn up an ambitious set of plans to see if the Inquisitor could be talked into creating an artificial hot spring powered by fire glyphs.

Bull seemed unbothered by the temperature of the water and by extension, roughing it. He remained consistently cheerful. Vivienne supposed that compared to his years in Seheron, their current fights were a piece of cake and he genuinely believed that anyone who attempted to hurt or take advantage of the refugees deserved to have their head detached from their body. “It’s the locals who got fucked over the worst,” he confided to her one night when the others had gone to bed. “Didn’t matter which faction they were facing. ‘Vints, demons, Tal-Vashoth, it all went to shit around the same time. This isn’t so different. As long as we do some good for these people, I can get behind the cause, Maker or not.”

An admirable sentiment for a Qunari spy, far from what anyone they came across would have expected. He was steady in his word and deed, always first to charge in front of the Inquisitor at any sign of trouble, always ready to help the locals gather supplies and find their feet again in the bedlam of the rebellion. His insistence on creating order out of chaos matched hers neatly. Perhaps that was why the Inquisitor kept them both close at hand, favoring the strength of their convictions in a world where the value of peace had been dashed against the rocks the war created.

Other members of the Inner Circle rotated in and out at a steady pace. Tonight Sera accompanied the party and while Vivienne held no love for the elf, easily turning her words in circles and making her the fool provided much needed entertainment while gathering herbs. Despite her continuing efforts to be the loudest, bawdiest fool in the entire history of Thedas, Vivienne and the Iron Bull found themselves alone at the camp in a rare moment of quiet. Sera had insisted on refilling her jar of bees after spotting a hive on a tree near the bottom of the hill and the Inquisitor could not in all good conscience leave her to her fate.

“Looks like it’s just us for tonight,” he commented, balancing a cutting board on his knees to chop up the roots that would flavor the broth of the stew and the vegetables local farmers had so generously provided for their services. “Nice to have fresh meat while we can. Jerky’s really not the same.”

“I suppose I’ll find out soon how much of a luxury it is,” she replied, poking at the fire and adding another log, then pulling out a small pouch that held jars of spices. “I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“I marinate ours before I smoke it so it’s decent, but it’s pretty dull without a kick.”

“As most things are.”

The Iron Bull chuckled, wiping his hands on a cloth. “After my own heart, are you, ma’am?”

“Only in your deepest fantasies, darling,” Vivienne sniffed, pointedly avoiding his gaze as she sprinkled a pinch from one of the jars over the meat searing at the bottom of the pot. “I was simply giving credit where it was due by acknowledging your good taste.”

“Well, we can’t have the ‘Vint lording his over us. It’s not like he has anything original to claim.”

“Certainly not.” A quick whiff of the steam determined she had mixed and distributed enough spices for the vegetables and roots to be properly seasoned as the meat browned. Gesturing to Bull, he carefully poured in the water once she moved out of the way, then added the carcass as it came to a proper boil.

“Gotta say, I didn’t expect you to know how to cook, ma’am. Most nobles come within ten feet of a kitchen, they’re ordering the servants to make a snack or bending them over the nearest table.”

If only the Orlesian court shared the Iron Bull’s opinion on her status. She shook her head, fighting the corners of her lips as they tried to tug up into a smile. “That kind of nobility tends to fare poorly in the circles. My acquaintances at Montsimmard could access a private kitchen that allowed some degree of autonomy, even if the templars stood guard outside. One of my peers possessed a particular aptitude for culinary magic and she created some minor advancements in baking technology by embedding runes and enchanting glyphs on specific instruments. Her demonstrations were particularly well received. Several of her inventions became standardized industry equipment among bakers in the wealthier chateaus of Val Royaux.”

“Have you kept in touch?”

Letting out a sigh, she shifted closer to him on the hastily constructed wooden bench. “As much as I have been able with the dissolution of the circles and the ongoing war. She’s currently creating a better process to preserve rations for longer periods of time while Empress Celene and Duc Gaspard insist on dragging out their pointless quarrel even as the Venatori hack at our borders.”

“At least she’s alive,” Bull pointed out, lifting the lid and stirring the stew.

“For now, yes. She refuses to tell me whose favor she’s currying, but for her sake, I hope she courts both sides enough to survive until Celene and Gaspard see reason and call for peace talks at Halamshiral.”

“There an end in sight?”

“Even a child’s temper tantrum eventually ceases once they tire.” Taking the wooden spoon from him, she pushed the root cuttings that clung to the side of the pot down and nudged a chunk back into the simmering broth.

“Doesn’t sound all that different from the Antaam.” Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he tilted his head from one side to the other, horns moving with him. Vivienne noticed their sheen had dulled and resisted the urge to inquire after their health. “About the same amount of burning things, but we’ve had more practice. Give it a little more time and you humans will catch up. Might even get as good as we have.”

“Oh? The Qunari have a monopoly on fire now?”

He grinned at her arched brow and dry tone. “Well, we have a long, established tradition of our leaders setting things on fire for reasons the rest of us don’t really understand and the priesthood attempting to explain why for the next few centuries. Be a shame if we quit while we’re still ahead.”

“So long as your people concentrate your efforts on taking Tevinter, darling, I fear we shall only have to crawl.”

A massive hand clutched his chest as he guffawed, head thrown back. “Oh, you are evil,” he crooned, delighting in the wickedness of her jab. Vivienne steadfastly tried to ignore the suggestions that particular tone of voice planted in the back of her mind. “You give us too much credit, but I think you have as much confidence in your leaders as I do in mine.”

“It paints a grim portrait,” she agreed. “We’re well matched in that regard.”

Bull lifted the lid of the stewpot and took a whiff, then nodded approvingly. “Good thing this is done, then. Let’s save a couple bowls for the boss and Sera and eat before our situations get any grimmer.”

“Gladly.” Carefully tracing two iron plates with small fire glyphs to heat them as he filled and covered two bowls with cloth, they were carefully nestled in a wicker basket and covered again before closing the lid to keep the stew warm. Putting it close enough to the fire to warm it further, Vivienne took out bowls, linens, and spoons for them from another basket, then set the ones intended for Bull on his knees. She sat down again and he smiled, inclining his head to offer her the first meal.

“I could never have this at court.” Vivienne commented as she held up her bowl to receive the stew.

“Really?”

“I grew up with it, but I haven’t eaten it since I was transferred to the circle at Montsimmard. It was seen as unworthy of an advanced palate. Base, slobbering muck.” Inhaling the scented steam, Vivienne’s eyelids fluttered shut, her senses refusing to allow her to overanalyze something as simple as mentioning her fondness for her favorite dish. “Base, delicious, slobbering muck.”

“That’s some damned good grub they’ve been missing out on.”

“They wouldn’t be caught dead lowering themselves to dine on whatever Free Marchers would consider cuisine, even if it is the breadbasket of Thedas.” She huffed. “In truth, it’s Marcher in name only; this dish is actually Rivaini. Any family you cared to visit for supper would have it at least twice a fortnight.”

“Ah.” The Iron Bull nodded sagely as he ladled out a generous helping for himself. “Figures we’d have all the good stuff.”

“We?”

“We make it a little differently back in Par Vollen, but the methods and the spices are basically the same.” Blowing lightly on the steam to cool his own bowl, he settled down beside her. “Now, if I had some bananas I could roast over the fire, it’d be just like home, but we can’t always get what we want.”

“The Rivaini cook Dorian and I are planning to hire might have some contacts we could use to procure them,” Vivienne mused. “It would be difficult, perhaps, but not impossible.” She gave a rare sight of contentment after tasting her first spoonful. “My mother used to fry them, then add in one that was slightly ripened to thicken and flavor the broth.”

“So, you had this a lot?” He spoke the words with care, his lone eye scanning her features, ready to change the subject and move on if she indicated discomfort talking about her rarely mentioned past.

“Being as young as I was, I have very few memories before Ostwick’s circle. Her making this was one of them.” She took another spoonful and closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of the stew. “A good one.”

“Good,” Bull enthused, starting on his own meal. The two ate in companionable silence for a while before he wiped his mouth genteelly with a cloth draped over one knee and looked over at her again. “I’m glad I was able to do this for you, ma’am.”

“Vivienne,” she amended, seeing no harm in it so long as they were alone.

His crooked grin created a heated coil that twisted and spread over her abdomen with an unrivaled strength that contested her guard and left it in shambles. “Vivienne,” the Iron Bull purred, the pointed consonant humming on the tip of his tongue as the softened sweetness of the rest curled around it, vowels flowing off his lips like prized jewels. The coil abruptly unraveled and she followed suit, though his eye gazing into hers held the same intense uncertainty, that same unspoken desire their intimacy brought out as they studied each other’s faces, trying to figure out what move to make next.

And here they stood again, on the precipice of something neither were quite sure of being able to afford, a desperate need for more in the midst of an uncertain fate strumming at their rawest nerves. After a mutually unbearable, stifling silence, Vivienne opened her mouth, the Iron Bull’s gaze softening almost impossibly tenderly as he willingly yielded to whatever outcome her words would bring—

A loud yell pierced the quiet as Sera tore through the camp screaming, the Inquisitor in tow. For once completely blindsided, the Iron Bull barely managed to yank the stewpot out of the way before it was knocked over, the Inquisitor tripping over the basket holding their dinner and flopping onto the bank. The elf continued to flee, catapulting herself into the lake with a loud whoop and staying underwater.

“ _What_ ,” The Iron Bull and Vivienne managed in unison, their heavy sighs matched in perfect harmony. The Inquisitor offered no explanation, wheezing faintly on the ground, a spare blanket pulled over their head. Resigned, cursing mildly in Qunlat under his breath, Bull shrugged his shoulders at her apologetically, then saw to the business of rubbing the Inquisitor’s back with one giant hand and murmuring vaguely comforting nonsense to coax them out from under it. This left Sera to Vivienne.

“I ought to freeze the lake,” she muttered.

“I wouldn’t, ma’am. You’ll just make her worse,” Bull replied mildly, then gave the blanket a gentle tug. “There, there. Be easy, boss. C’mon. Nothing out here but nugs and foxes and they don’t like fire, so they’ve kept their distance.” Begrudgingly, the lump underneath stirred and finally a head poked out.

“Are the bees gone?”

“They were never here, Inquisitor,” Vivienne soothed, against her better judgement. Really, they should have known what sort of disaster they were inviting by indulging Sera of all people for such a ridiculous quest. “You are quite safe.”

“Oi! How come Inky gets comfortin’ an’ I don’t get shite?” Grumbling, the troublemaker squelched her way over to the three, shaking off the water as Vivienne cast a discreet barrier to keep the rest of them from sharing in her misery. “Wasn’t even up the tree, insisted on stayin’ on the bloody ground t’keep watch. What kind of watch is there to be keepin’ out in the wilderness, eh? Not like trees have a problem with us.”

“So it was you who knocked the hive over,” Bull nudged, gently helping the Inquisitor up to sit on the bench beside him and wrapping them in the spare blanket.

Sera scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. We’re home free now, right? They only chased us into the ravine.”

The Inquisitor wavered, eyes glazing over slightly. “But what was in it…”

“Come now, Inquisitor,” Vivienne hastily interjected, withdrawing a bowl of stew from the basket and drawing their attention to it. “I’m sure whatever story you have to tell us can wait until after supper.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the dragon got off scot free,” Sera laughed, shoveling her dinner into her mouth.

The Iron Bull’s head snapped round and almost knocked the elf off her seat. Ignoring the yelp of protest as she ducked to avoid his horns, he leaned in. “A dragon?!” He exclaimed gleefully, his enthusiasm undeterred by the slight daze the gesture caused. “ _Aw shit_. You saw a dragon in the ravine?”

“Hard to miss. It was bloody huge!” Sera retorted, arms spread wide in an attempt to do it justice. “Like, this ruddy great lizard. Kept flying around and setting trees on fire. Tried to get us, too, but the bees went after it once they saw a bigger target.”

“ _A dragon_ ,” Bull enthused, rocking back again as his palms smoothed over his thighs to rest on his knees. Excitement and Qunari were not normally associated with one another, but as disorienting as it was, Vivienne found it difficult not to be at least a little endeared by his elation. “A dragon out here. _Fuck yes_. I can’t wait to fight it.” He turned to the Inquisitor, determined. “ _Tell me we’re fighting it, boss._ ”

“Certainly not tonight,” Vivienne cut in, the Inquisitor sagging gratefully as she came to their rescue. “We haven’t even finished our supper. Perhaps in future; I’m sure the dragon is a problem for the farmers as well as any lost travelers who stumble into the ravine, but we need to acquire horses first.”

“Supply caches, too,” the Iron Bull relented, still clearly picturing a dragon fight in his mind’s eye.

Sera slurped down the rest of her stew and belched approvingly, grinning at Vivienne as she wrinkled her nose. “Ferelden winters are shite. You’re lucky if you still have bits by the time the snow melts.”

“Then I think we’d better call it an early evening,” the Inquisitor said, returning to their meal in earnest. The conversation turned to idle chatter cultivated by days of wandering with no other company into something comfortable and familiar. By the time the fire burned low, they had cleaned the camp thoroughly and settled down for a well-earned night’s rest. The Inquisitor and Sera had retired to their tents while Vivienne performed her evening toilette, leaving her to find the Iron Bull poking at the embers.

“Valo-Kass Kathari’s low in the sky,” he observed by way of greeting, turning his gaze to her from looking up at the stars. “Not sure if it means the same for you bas this early, but it’s going to be a rough winter.”

“I suppose the Sword of Mercy was a misnomer,” she mused. “You ought to enjoy it while you can.”

“Oh, I’ve had a very enjoyable night,” he rejoined readily with a grin. “Couldn’t be better.”

The flickering firelight alluded to a softened expression most would have thought the great Madame de Fer incapable of making. “Then it pleases me to know the feeling was mutual. Good night, Iron Bull.”

“Good night, Vivienne.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Nor shall our cups make any guilty men,_  
>  _But at our parting we shall be as when_  
>  _We innocently met. No simple word_  
>  _That shall be uttered at our mirthful board_  
>  _Shall make us sad next morning, or affright_  
>  _The liberty that we'll enjoy tonight._   
> _~Ben Jonson_


End file.
